


From Beyond the Grave

by flumen



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ben and Klaus are brotp, Child Abuse, F/M, Gen, If I continue this, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Klaus is underappreciated, Klaus' flourishing addictions, Least of all me, Light Angst, Luther and Allison are very background, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reginald Hargreeves is a bad parent canonically, Swearing, and I think Ben swears don't @ me, and no one understands his powers?, because it's uh it's klaus, because uh it's Klaus, begins with coffee ends with drugs, but also canon so...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-11-04 14:28:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17899859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flumen/pseuds/flumen
Summary: When Ben first visits him from beyond the grave, Klaus nearly wakes every corpse in the vicinity with his screams.An exploration of Ben and Klaus' life after Ben's death and how they arrived where they were at the start of season 1.I love these boys and their dynamic is one of my favourite parts of the show, plus no one understands Klaus' powers and it heckin' frustrates me so there'll be plenty of that :)





	1. Void

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you like this and would like to read more! The Umbrella Academy has been my most recent obsession and like every human being with functioning eyes, I can see that no one either appreciates or understands Klaus and what he can do. So here's a little thing I wrote.

When Ben first visits him from beyond the grave, Klaus nearly wakes every corpse in the vicinity with his screams. Within seconds his family have arrived in his room, dishevelled and somewhat battle-ready, only to find him pointing into empty air, glittering eyes wide and face chalky pale.

“What is it Klaus?” Luther had asked, ever the authoritative.

All he’d been able to do was shake his head and utter one word: “Ben.”

“Speak up, number 4.”

“ _Ben_.”

“What?” Allison had gasped, peering hopelessly into his line of vision. “Is he here? Klaus, where?”

He points. Ben stares, expression slack but eyes screaming out in horror. Klaus has always found that the energy the dead lose from life becomes concentrated in their eyes after they’re gone.

“Is he… is he…” Diego stuttered and Dad cuts him off impatiently.

“Is he doing anything? Saying anything? _Speak up_ , number 4.”

“He’s scared.” Was all Klaus could manage, omitting that he was scared too. He desperately wanted one of them to stay, not to leave him alone with his brother’s traumatised eyes, but when it became apparent the spectre wasn’t actually going to do anything they all trooped dutifully out, even mom. Klaus got the sense that this was supposed to be his cross to bear, that he was too old now to still be afraid of the powers he’d had since birth but this was different to a normal ghost. He’d never actually known the ghost before and it hurt to see Ben like this, reduced to an empty spirit.

Ben didn’t move, didn’t emote but he also didn’t leave until the sunrise shone on his corner and he dissolved with the shadows in front of Klaus’ very eyes. He hadn’t of course been able to sleep a wink with his very own brother lurking like some sort of sleep paralysis demon by his wardrobe.  As much as it was a relief to his pounding heart, Klaus hadn’t wanted Ben to disappear, terrified he wouldn’t return. What if he had just unknowingly said goodbye to his brother for a second time?

It was terribly selfish because the lingering ghosts did on earth was not an existence Klaus would wish on anyone but he privately prayed Ben would appear again, at least one last time so he could say all the things he’d been too terrified to the night before.

He needn’t have worried. Ben returned the next night, and the one after and eventually seemed able to bare the sunlight and remain in the day. He wasn’t a constant presence but he appeared regularly enough that it was no longer a novelty to hear Klaus exclaim “Ben’s here!” and eventually he ceased announcing his arrival. The others slowly and innocently began to lose interest; after all, Ben didn’t speak and they couldn’t see him. To them he might as well have been still dead and buried, resting in peace.

Even Dad seemed to stop being invested in Klaus’ ability to reach out to his dead son. Klaus’ powers had always been the least tangible, the least marketable. Every once in a while, in that clinical way of his, he’d ask for an update and hum judgementally to whatever was said. Klaus had long since stopped caring about the disinterest, as long as he didn’t appear scared and end up in the crypts again.

Klaus had full confidence that eventually Ben would speak. He knew ghosts could from their whining and lamenting and physically Ben should be able to: his death, though unpleasant, had left him a fully functioning tongue. From that haunted look in his eyes, Klaus gathered his brother was just in shock. The passage from the living to the afterlife was no easy trip and there had probably been some nasty jolts along the way. So Klaus tried his best to be patient, sensitive and friendly and treasured those brief moments where he’d quip and catch the ghost of a smile on his ghostly brother’s lips.

***

Ben spoke his name experimentally, “Klaus.”, three months after his death and progressed from there, answering yes and no questions, falling again into deathly silence whenever reminded of his fatal predicament. Klaus responded amiably and often dropped everything to try and coax some words out of his brother on those days where he was willing. It was a bit like handling a baby but after number five had disappeared and all Klaus’ attempts to contact him had come up null and void, he was determined to strengthen the connection he did have.

It didn’t occur to him right away to make his siblings privy to these discussions. He’d told Dad, of course, who merely encouraged him to maintain communication but he hadn’t imagined his brothers and sisters would be interested. They never acknowledged or spoke about Ben and Klaus had always got the sense him speaking to ghosts creeped them out. It was his thing, something they could marvel at but would never dream of engaging with themselves, as if the ball was now in his court and out of their reach. So when he’d let idly slip that Ben was disappointed his 15th birthday was going to pass him by, he hadn’t expected the explosion that took place.

“What?” Luther had barked, dropping his spoon into his oatmeal with a splattering clatter. “He’s speaking to you now?”

“Well what did he say?” Allison had said desperately. “Quick, Klaus, everything he said.”

“Calm down.” He’d placated, grinning but a little taken aback. “He’s been talking to me for the last 2 months.”

“Well why didn’t you tell us!” Allison had demanded, tears pricking in her eyes and her voice distressed. Luther began to awkwardly pat her arm.

“I didn’t think you’d care-” Klaus began and then immediately knew he’d screwed up.

“Care? He’s our br- brother.” Diego exclaimed, digging his knife into the table. As if on cue, Ben materialised on his left, glancing puzzled at their angry expressions and Allison’s tear-stained cheeks.

“He’s here right now!” Klaus said hastily, and despite it all supressed an eyeroll at the typical futile head swivelling. They weren’t going to see anything. “Perfect timing, Ben. Please assure our concerned siblings we’ve done nothing but talk about pop music since July.”

“Er… yes?” Ben said.

“Well there you go.” Klaus said, stubbornly ignoring the others’ looks of confusion.

“Are you sure it’s him?” Luther asked, still squinting as if the right angle might make their brother pop into existence.

“Well it’s either that or a very convincing doppelgänger who knows everything about us. Yes, I’m sure it’s him.”

“Can we talk to him?” Allison sniffled. “Will you translate? Please, Klaus.”

Klaus had always privately had more of a weakness for Allison than the rest of his siblings. She out of everyone seemed capable of some decorum and reason. Well, besides Vanya of course but she barely spoke enough to have much of a character in Klaus’ mind.

“Yes, of course.” He sighed. “As long as Ben says it’s ok.” Ben nodded. “Right, well in that case fire away.”

What ensued was a very painful, clumsy game of 21 questions during which Klaus had to divert several difficult comments such as an oafish “Did it hurt?” thank you very much Luther and deflect even more accusations he wasn’t translating properly. It wasn’t his fault Ben couldn’t remember where he’d left his Gameboy and completely unfair to accuse him of taking it for himself, _Diego_. Plus trying to flit so quickly between focusing on the living and the dead gave him a little bit of a headache, although that might have just been his family.

“You tell us when he speaks again.” Luther had ordered when it was time for training to begin and Klaus had responded with a lazy salute, having the grace not to highlight the impracticality of that situation. That is, unless Luther wanted to be woken up at 2am whenever Ben asked Klaus to turn the subtitles on on the reruns of America’s Top Model he really shouldn’t be watching at 2am.

“They haven’t got any less…alive.” Ben commented once the kitchen had been deserted and it was just the two of them, or just Klaus talking into space depending on your perspective.

“The sad thing is I know they wouldn’t leave me alone even if they were.” He responded, giving Ben a significant look that made him smile. “Now come on. Race you to the staircase.”

***

Ben never seemed to show up at inopportune moments unless he wanted to: he’d only materialise on a family day trip if there was an empty seat in the car but seemed to delight in emerging from the steam when Klaus was in the middle of showering. This was a lot politer than many other ghosts who showed up when they wanted, where they wanted and wailed as loudly as they wanted as well.

6 months after Ben’s death, he had upgraded to practically speaking like his normal self and seemed less afraid to acknowledge the event. Klaus had upgraded to coffee, lots of it, and sneaking the portable radio into the attic to listen to unsuitable earworm music. Both were highly addictive and often seemed to drown out the buzzing and howling in his head.

Since Ben neither buzzed nor howled, these unorthodox methods didn’t seem to have an effect on him for which Klaus was grateful. As he and his siblings had grown older, so had they grown apart, a process that had been triggered by Number 5’s disappearance and accelerated by Ben’s death. Luther and Allison remained close knit to the point of suspicion, taking to secluding themselves in corners and locking doors when they entered a room, something Dad clearly disapproved of. Diego was experiencing typical teenage angst, buying magazines just to throw knives at the models’ blank faces and sneaking out nights to hang out with disreputable characters. And Vanya was just… Vanya. Klaus couldn’t recall a single time she’d ever felt truly a part of the group and less like a ghost that everyone could see but ignored as much as one of the ones only Klaus could. He might have felt more sorry for her if she wasn’t always playing her violin so assiduously which didn’t really make her any fun.

Meanwhile, Klaus had a whole brother to himself be it a dead, slightly moody one (because ghosts experienced the tortures of adolescence too and with a dash of existentialism) who couldn’t touch or be touched. Still, when everyone else had peeled off Klaus was glad to be less alone. And it was fun to mess with people by telling them they were sitting on Ben. It reached a point where no one believed him anymore and Diego actually did sit on Ben and when alerted spent a good five minutes shaking himself off as if netted in cobwebs.

“Ben wants you to know he’s now on the other side of the room and to quote unquote ‘quit your bitching’ because you’re not the one who just had someone transmute through your liver.”

“G-god, can you just not summon him unless it’s for something useful. It’s pretty messed up you using him to play pranks on people like that.” Diego demanded, looking shaken and eyes flickering paranoid around the room. “Creeps me out.”

“Oh I’m sorry that me being dead inconveniences you.”  Klaus supressed a snort. Ben was leaning against the bar looking very relaxed for someone who had just been sat through. “Besides, dude he does know it doesn’t work like that, right? You don’t just have me on speed dial.”

“Hmm, you’d think he would, wouldn’t you?” Klaus murmured, mainly just because he knew it would freak Diego out. Sure enough, his lip curled in disgust.

“You’re a freak, man.” He spat and turned to stride out of the door.

Klaus felt something ugly and angry rear its head in his chest. “Easy for you to say Edward Scissorhands, there are probably circus acts with better aim than you.” He craned his neck after his brother. “Watch out for the headless nun by the bottom of the stairs!” He relished the terrified yelp that emitted from the hallway.

Ben sat down beside him with a muted thud Klaus knew only he could hear. “Seriously, bro, what do they think you are a bouncer for the world of the living? How does he think your powers work?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Klaus mused, taking a long swig of coffee with his pinkie finger sticking out. It was 3pm and he was already on his sixth cup but he was beginning to feel the itch for a pick-me-up. “How did you think my powers worked? I mean, before you witnessed first-hand.”

“I dunno.” Ben blinked bemused for a moment in a way that looked entirely alive. “I mean, I guess a little like Casper the friendly ghost.”

Klaus choked on his coffee. “Casper the friendly…?”

“Yeah.” If there was any blood flowing through his apparition, Ben probably would have blushed. “Maybe white kinda cartoony ghosts popped up whenever you needed help. You always seemed so cheerful when you spoke to them, I never imagined…” He trailed off, contemplative. “And I thought having tentacles was a rough deal. But being a beacon for all things undead? Dude that sucks.”

“It is but the card dealt to me by a cruel God.” Klaus lamented, pressing the back of his hand against his temple but feeling his stomach begin to churn. For a long time he had imagined his siblings knowing what it was like to live the way he lived, with a spectre around every corner. Some that wanted something from him and wouldn’t leave until they got it, some so mutilated it hurt to look at and some so sad it hurt even more. However, now that Ben actually knew and had put it into words, he didn’t know how to respond but the way he always had: with a jape and a grin and a pain in his chest.

“And to be honest, I always did think the tentacles were a little weird.” He continued, maintaining a casual, speculative tone. “I have talked to some open-minded ghosts and let me tell you, you do not want to hear what they have to say about tentacles. This one girl-”

“Ew. No.” Ben said instantly, screwing up his face in disgust. “Pretend I didn’t say anything. I don’t want to hear it, no thanks.”

“You brought it up.” Klaus pointed out.

“And you took it somewhere it didn’t have to go.”

“Don’t all roads lead to one path in the end?”

“Ironically, I think that quotes referring to death, not kinks.”

Klaus gasped. “You said the d-word.”

Ben frowned in confusion. “The what?”

“Death!” He chirped, wishing more than ever he could hug his brother. “You’ve been dancing around it the past year but you just admitted your dead!”

“Well I am.” Ben said with the air of ripping off a plaster. “I am dead.”

“That’s the spirit! Oop would you look at that. I just made a pun.” Klaus chuckled, feeling a lot lighter of heart than he had a moment ago. “I think we had a breakthrough today. Acceptance is the first step on a road to recovery.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be recovering from being dead anytime soon.” Ben pointed out, but the smile he wore proved he’d got the point. “But thanks anyway. Y’know I’m lucky to have a psychic brother. It’s not like being alive but… it’s a little closer.”

That night Ben visits Klaus from beyond the grave. They dance to trashy pop music in the attic and pretend that they’re alive.


	2. A Little Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an unpleasant incident in Klaus' training that results in a return to the mausoleum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh so this ended up being very Klaus-centric for which I apologise profusely but I will be posting another chapter and that WILL be Ben and Klaus I pinkie promise  
> I don't even know if I'm happy with it tbh but I've spent all day writing it so it may as well be unleashed on the internet  
> Warning for a lil underage drinking, a lil bit of gore and creepiness, a lil more swearing and Reginald Hargreeves canonically being an abusive parent (in this case minor physically)

On the students of the Umbrella Academy’s fifteenth birthday, Dad allows them all one glass of wine. It’s dark, sweet and potent stuff that they can smell a metre away: a smell of sophistication, maturity and respect.

“Alcohol is one of the many worldly vices you will be confronted with as you blossom to adulthood.” Dad had informed them as he poured their cups. They had been arranged almost as if for a family portrait, in an ordered line that thrummed with anticipation. “I hope by exposing you to the mediocrity of it young, you will be dissuaded from seeking it out in the future.” The hypocrisy of this wasn’t lost on Klaus: he knew Dad drank whiskey in his study and the very poison he was now offering them came from his private wine cellar. Still, that had always been the way of Reginald Hargreeves: his policy was strictly do as I say, not as I do.

The dispensing of the cups was almost ceremonial. Mom beamed with a sentimental pride as she gave each of them their glass. Luther downed his within seconds and though he winced, he still managed a “Nothing special.” to impress Dad. Diego, who was a grievously late bloomer and still anxiously awaiting his growth spurt, needed only one small glass to send him reeling. Once the dregs had been gulped, he retired to reclining on the chaise in the drawing room and giggling at the ceiling, tossing a knife into the air and only catching it when it came dangerously close to his nose. Allison drank, wrinkled her nose, but finished it as Luther had done, deciding her time was better spent poring over the magazines her siblings had smuggled her as presents. Vanya took a few sips to be included but surreptitiously left her half empty cup on the side and snuck off to play happy birthday to herself on the violin.

Klaus had always been fascinated by the idea of alcohol and its effects. On missions before he had seen drunk people and even as his siblings had cringed at their flailing movements and slurred words, he had always found a joyful vitality in their inebriation. There was nothing more alive than rejoicing in the face of poison in your veins. So he had slipped his wine slow and savoured it, hoping for some laxness to his muscles or maybe even an urge to dance. What he received instead was quiet.

As he drank, he felt some of the incessant whispers in his skull fade away. He felt more awake, more present, less sombre. Even Ben’s voice, asking him with a touch of envy what it was like, became a muted background noise amongst the sweet flavour and warmth of the alcohol. Was this what it was like to be grounded in the world of the living? Was this how his brothers and sisters felt all the time? Klaus had always been cold, pale and a little spacey but right now he felt the blood pump hot in his veins, hyper-alert to everything around him.

Eventually the high drifted down and Klaus felt the distance between himself and everyday human life expand once again. It was like he’d been up for air but now the deep waters had dragged him under again. “Well?” Ben asked again, a little impatiently. “What’s it like?”

“If this is a worldly vice…” Klaus said, grabbing Vanya’s abandoned cup from the side and letting it wash down his throat. “I have no interest in virtue.”

***

At the age of 15, Klaus’ individual training took up the whole morning from 10 until 1. That was, of course, unless they had a mission which was becoming less and less often as without Ben or 5 they were less and less useful. Group training then made up the rest of the day which varied between learning basic maths, English and science and how to neutralise a threat with one carefully placed pressure point. This training was manageable, if at times to Klaus deadly dull. It was his individual training which he dreaded because in the mornings he spent all his time talking to ghosts.

His Dad would set Klaus a new challenge every day, normally to try and summon a specific deceased person and acquire adequate information to prove to him he’d done so. If the details weren’t specific enough or if Klaus’ composure wasn’t maintained well, Dad would make him try again or threaten him with the mausoleum. The actual summoning generally was easy unless the spirit really didn’t want to talk or was firmly at rest; it was calmly communicating and then dismissing the ghost that was the hardest. Often it took all of Klaus’ willpower not to break, look away or plug his ears, especially on those days he knew his Dad had picked out a particularly grisly death.

The day after his 15th birthday was one such occasion. A homicide victim who had died in a hit-and-run a mile away which was both a struggle since that was further than Klaus had ever tried to summon before and also because his father had presented him with a coroner’s report on the murder. It was gruesome to say the least, and the photos of the corpse were seared into his brain even as Klaus prepared to reach out to the spirit.

Ben had hovered awkwardly by his side as Klaus sat, cross-legged at the bottom of the stairwell and tried to gather the deceased man’s energy. It was like trying to create a patchwork of a person with only the rotting scraps of his character: all Klaus had to work off of were some cursory comments about who he’d been and a surgical assessment of his state of body at time of death.  Still, he had trained to find the soft spots in a ghost’s troubled psyche.

“Mr Butlins?” He called into the still air. He could feel a link, tenuous but one he was able to fortify. “I know your daughter, Mindy. She’s a very talented painter. Would you like to have a talk to me about her?” He could sense a presence in response but it was hesitant, as if testing the waters. For some reason it struck Klaus with a sense of foreboding but he forced down his shallow heartbeat and spoke again. “Mr Butlins, please. I only want to chat. If you want, you can tell me about what you’re still doing here.”

“Klaus…” Ben muttered and he tilted his head to look at him. “Klaus, I don’t feel right. This doesn’t feel right.”

“Number 4, focus please.” For some reason Dad was watching him with particular interest today, more than he generally showed in Klaus’ training which generally consisted of him chattering into thin air. “Who is that you’re looking at?”

“Just Ben.” Klaus explained. Dad had always been infuriatingly able to discern the difference between him daydreaming and him listening to a ghost. “Sorry, Dad, I’m trying. Mr Butlins, why are you still here?”

“Revenge.” Growled a low voice by Klaus’ ear. With a start he made to stand but another snarl made him freeze. “Don’t move another inch, little boy. Are you Klaus Hargreeves?”

“Yes.” Klaus whispered. He could hear purposeless ragged breath panting into his hair, could practically feel the oppressive entity as it crouched over him. He curled into himself in a pathetic attempt to get away but the ghost was so close, its body followed the rise and fall of Klaus’ back. He caught sight of Ben from the corner of his eye and his face did little to reassure him: his mouth was agape and shaped with fear and his eyes were horrified and helpless.

“Number 4, speak up, is he here?” Came Dad’s voice but it might as well have been from some far-off shore a lifetime away. Right now it was just Klaus and the dead.

Slowly and agonisingly, hands began to appear in Klaus’ peripheral vision but they were hands like none he’d ever seen before, so stripped of skin and flesh it was a wonder they stayed together. Somehow they were still oozing blood and the ghost held them up to Klaus’ eyes so close he could see the specks of tarmac ground into them. “Are you looking, Master Hargreeves?” The ghost hissed and Klaus let out a spontaneous whimper. “Do you see what has become of my body, what has become of _me_?”

“I see it.” Klaus breathed. The hands curled into fists.

“Do you know who did this to me?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did this to me?” The ghost shrieked.

“I don’t know, I don’t. I’m sorry.” Klaus sobbed. “I’m sorry, please, I don’t know!”

“The Umbrella Company Ltd.” He hissed mockingly. “Who mowed me down in one of their monstrous supply trucks and when they felt the bump and crack of my body beneath their wheels, carried on driving and finished their route.” The spirit tried to laugh but all that was emitted was a dry hissing noise, like a snake in the grass. “So now because of your father, I’m dead. Because of your father, my daughter will grow up without hers. And because of you, I can’t even rest easy in my shallow grave without my existence being disturbed once again at the whim of a Hargreeves.”

“I’m sorry.” Klaus repeated. “Please, I’m so sorry just leave me alone!”

“Get away from my brother!” Ben cried, taking a few faltering steps forward and trying to appear courageous and protective. “He didn’t do anything to you.”

“Poor Masters Hargreeves.” The ghost cooed but there was no benevolence in his tone. “One a fellow victim of Reginald Hargreeves’ arrogant callousness and another very soon to be.”

Klaus didn’t know if the ghost could actually hurt him. Looking back, experience told him it probably couldn’t have but at the time it had felt as if the spectre’s hands were clasping around his neck, as if he could feel its hot, angry breath by his ear and as if he was actually about to be hurt and hurt badly.

“I lost a life with my daughter.” The ghost cackled. “Now Reginald Hargreeves will watch as I take the life of his son.”

“Klaus!” Ben screamed.

“Number 4, what is happening!” Dad’s voice demanded and he began to stride over.

Klaus shook with terror and he felt his grip on control slip away from him, as if his body was no longer his own. Something dark and sinister began to flow through his veins, something fatal that was expelled from his mouth with a flash of blue light and a scream of “Leave me alone!” that sent his father staggering back with the force of it.

The blue light cut through the air like a blade, severing the ghost’s hold on his back and uprooting his earthly connection with a jolt so abrupt and violent, it made Klaus double over. In the same way, Ben disappeared, face still frozen in terrified horror and bathed in blue, looking more dead than Klaus had ever seen him. As soon as he was sure the other ghost had been dispelled from whence he’d come, Klaus staggered to his feet.

“Ben!” He called, swivelling around hopelessly, desperate for a glimpse of the black leather or hooded face. “Ben, come back! Where are you? I’m- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to!” Had he just extinguished his brother for good? Had his loss of control of that power inside of him, that dark horrific power, somehow rent Ben’s connection to the land of the living permanently?

“Number 4!” His father blustered, clambering to his feet and dusting himself off.

“What’s going on?” Called another voice from upstairs and Allison’s head peeked over the bannisters, swiftly followed by Luther’s. Klaus subconsciously noted they weren’t supposed to be training together that morning but dispelled it as unimportant. The only thing that mattered was Ben. Where was Ben?

Others began to appear in the stairwell, mom and Diego and then Vanya still toting her violin, Pogo looking severe and sympathetic. None of them were the faces Klaus wanted to see. He continued to stumble, calling out fruitlessly for Ben’s name until his voice cracked and tears streamed down his face.

“Number 4, if your brother is gone then no amount of infantile whingeing is going to bring him back. Stand still and report to me.” Dad commanded.

“What… what happened?” Diego muttered but was instantly hit by a round of shushing.

“Report, Number 4.” Dad repeated, placing a firm, restrictive hand on Klaus’ shoulder and forcing him round to face him. “ _Now_.”

“I- I summoned the ghost.” Klaus hiccoughed.

“What was Number 6 doing there?”

“Ben’s always here. I don’t have to summon him, he’s always here all the time. And now he’s-” It took all of Klaus’ willpower not to break down again but the unforgiving glint in Dad’s eyes told him he’d better pull himself together. “I summoned the ghost but it wouldn’t let me see it. He crept up behind me and spoke into my ear, asked me if I was Klaus Hargreeves, asked if I knew how he died…” Slowly Klaus’ brain began to catch up with his body and what the ghost had said finally sunk in. “He said… he said you had killed him. You were the reason he died, why… why would you ask me to summon someone you knew would hate me?”

Dad bristled. “No questions, Number 4. Did you receive the information I wanted?”

“Did I-?” Klaus could hardly believe his ears. “Did I get the information? Dad, he was going to kill me! He showed me his hands they were scraped down to the bone!”

“But he couldn’t have actually harmed you, Number 4.” Dad said impatiently. “In which case, tell me about what you did afterwards. What was that?”

“What I did?” Klaus tried to think straight, tried to organise his head. He was in shock and had just been yanked out of a state between the dead and the living, nothing seemed to be ordered or sensical. “I’m not sure what I did. I just wanted it to go away, I was so scared-”

“We have talked about your irrational fear of the dead, Number 4.” Dad barked and for the second time that day Klaus felt terror grip his heart. He was suddenly very aware of his siblings all gathered around and watching as he was chewed out. Blood rushed to his cheeks and he looked down at the floor. “And now you tell me you allowed yourself to lose control like a toddler having a tantrum? I am very disappointed in you, Number 4.” He turned to the others. “The rest of you, I’m sure you have training to be doing.” He gave a significant look to Allison and Luther. “ _Individual_ training. I will come and check up on you in a few minutes. Believe me when I say Number 4 is sorry for causing a disturbance.”

Klaus got the sense he absolutely would be. As they left, several of his siblings gave him sympathetic, slightly patronising looks that he refused to even deign with a response. He wasn’t interested in either their pity or disdain; he just wanted Ben to come back and Dad not to be too mad at him and to erase forever the sight of those wretched hands and the sense of the ghost on his back, all around him, suffocating him…

“Number 4?” Dad said and once everyone else had left, his voice was almost sympathetic, a sort of what-are-we-going-to-do-about-you? “I told you you had to overcome your fear of your own powers. The dead cannot do you any harm; you are supposed to control them not let _them_ make you lose control.”

“I know, Dad, but I can’t.” There was no point putting up a brave front or lying anymore: Klaus knew he couldn’t do it.

“That is why I gave you an assignment I knew would antagonise you: I needed to see you could face and understand the futility of your fear.”

“I’m sorry Dad. I tried.”

Dad hummed through his nose in a long-suffering way. “In which case my boy, I imagine it’s time for a return to the mausoleum.”

“Not back there.” Klaus said, feeling a pressure begin to build in his chest and his hands slicken. “Dad, not in there. I’m not a little kid anymore, you don’t have to lock me up in there again.”

“Clearly you have not made enough progress since the last time I did!” Dad snapped, closing a hand around Klaus’ wrist and pulling him towards the back door. “If you continue to persist in this childlike paranoia I am forced to treat you like a child. You’ve left me no other options, Number 4.”

“There are always other options!” Klaus cried. “You didn’t have to make your supply trucks so big when you knew they might hit someone, you didn’t have to make me summon that ghost, hell you didn’t have to adopt me at all! Maybe I wouldn’t have to be so afraid if you weren’t such a deluded psychopath!”

“That’s enough!” His father said firmly but Klaus felt the hand around his wrist shake. They were on the house’s green now and the marble roof of the cemetery was beginning to hove into view.

“But that’s not right Dad, is it? It’ll never be enough for you, will it? I can’t just be a normal kid who’s afraid of ghosts, oh no.” With a burst of adrenaline-induced strength, Klaus ripped his wrist from his father’s grip and forced them to come to a standstill on the grass. “That doesn’t fit the mould of your egocentric teenage superhero dream team. How exactly are we meant to be saving the world, Dad? Because I really doubt me being able to have evening tea with a mutilated corpse is going to come into it much!”

“You are only scratching the surface of your potential.” His father insisted, voice hushed and tight with rage. “That is what I am trying to teach you, Number 4, it has nothing to do with my own self-indulgence.”

“It has everything to do with your self-indulgence.” Klaus felt a bitter grin unfurl on his face. “I bet you were one of those kids who collected comics when you were younger and now that you’re a billionaire you’ve bought us like limited editions.” It was like the fright with the ghost had cracked a dam and now Klaus could feel years of pent up frustration mingling with his panic, flowing out of his mouth in a torrent he didn’t even try to control. “Well guess what Dad? I’m not some shitty comic book and I’m sure as hell not your Number 4. Mom gave me a name, remember? My name is Klaus and I’m one of a fucking kind!”

His Dad hit him. Hard. Just once across the face, enough to send his already wracked body staggering back onto the floor. For a second he lay there, crumpled, and felt the wind comb fingers through his hair, whistling through the trees and between the gravestones a yard away. His cheek stung but it was nothing compared to the stinging in his eyes. The one strike had knocked all the fury out of him, all the willpower, and what was left was a terrified boy afraid of the dark, the dead and his dad.

“You insolent boy.” His father said, an awful resignation in his damning voice. “It was foolish of me to believe you could possibly comprehend how important you are. There are people relying on you, Number 4, and I won’t let them down by allowing you to shirk your responsibilities and hide from your fears like a child. Now get up.”

“No.” Klaus responded, sullen even to his own ears. “No, I won’t.”

“Don’t make me drag you.” His father warned but honestly Klaus couldn’t care less if he did. The old man could break his back for all it mattered to him, he wasn’t going to stand up and walk willingly into the darkness.

A sigh. Then “Get up, Klaus.”

Klaus looked up at his father in shock. His Dad’s eyes were deader than a ghost’s but there was a pinch in his brow that was pained and almost sympathetic. “Get up son. You’re not letting me down. You’re letting everyone else down, including yourself.”

Klaus thought about it, thought about his options. He could try and make a break for it back up to the house, but he didn’t trust either mom or Luther not to wrestle him back down again which would end in humiliation and probably a black eye. He could let his Dad drag him kicking and screaming into the mausoleum but something told him he’d need to save his voice if he was going to be left in there overnight. It might be amusing to play dead and make it look like his Dad was dragging his murdered corpse to bury it in the crypts but if he was too convincing Dad might actually snap and bury him alive. There seemed to only be one vaguely dignified option.

“Alright, Coach Bolton.” He sighed, rising inelegantly to his feet and dusting the grass off his blazer. “You know it’s a good thing I’m home-schooled otherwise I’d probably be carted away by social services for this shiner and you’d be one of those fall-from-grace billionaires who lost all their money bribing juries to acquit them for being a dickhead.”

“Language, Number 4.”

“Oh we’re back to that are we? Shame, you almost sounded like a normal parent for a moment there. Like maybe your idea of discipline was grounding your kid rather than locking him in a mausoleum.”

“This isn’t discipline, Number 4, it’s a learning exercise.”

“And I suppose bitch-slapping me was a learning exercise too? All I learned was to never square up with a pensioner.”

Despite his momentary bravado, when the cold marble walls of the mausoleum came into sight, Klaus felt his resolve faltering. He missed Ben, wished more than anything that he could be here with him. The thought of being alone in that cold, haunted tomb made him think about what the land of the dead must be like. Perhaps that’s where Ben was now, surrounded by miserable spectres, not knowing that Klaus hadn’t meant to hurt him, would never want to hurt him.

Ben had always been the most emotionally intelligent of all of them and maybe if he hadn’t died he’d have grown up to be a semi-functioning human being. He’d probably hate the way Klaus was handling all of this. He’d probably hate Dad for hitting him the way Klaus couldn’t even manage to. It was like he’d become so numb to his Dad’s abnormal parenting practically anything could go at this point but Ben wouldn’t let that slide. Vanya might not have powers, but Ben had always really been the most normal in that way.

He was Klaus’ favourite sibling, even if he was dead. He wanted to tell him that when (if) he ever saw him again.

“I’ll return for you in the morning, Number 4.” His Dad called from the doorway. “Good luck, my boy. Overcome this irrational fear.”

Good luck. The words rang empty when the door was swung closed and darkness pressed in from all sides. In a moment they’d sense his presence. In a moment, they’d come for him. Klaus pressed himself down into his familiar corner and clasped his hands together. He could already tell it was going to be a long night.


	3. Wiped Out!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snapshot of the aftermath of the events of the mausoleum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just managed to finish a shorter chapter and thought it made sense to post on its own as a continuation of chapter 2. Hope you enjoy!

Sunrise had always been Klaus’ favourite time of the day. There was something tranquil in the sight of the mellow sun rising over the horizon, the birth of a new day. Every sunrise came with the hope that this day would be better than the one before. Of course, Klaus also had more practical reasons for the joy he felt when the daylight finally conquered the darkness of the night because when the shadows fled at daybreak, darker things fled with them, things he knew might wane while the sun illuminated the sky but could never permanently be held at bay.

Sometimes he wondered whether it would just be easier to become a dark thing like them. You couldn’t be afraid of the dark if it was afraid of you.

The sunrise glowed radiant off the white marble walls of the mausoleum, like a heavenly monument. Klaus crouched in the scruffy grass by the entrance and tried to extract himself from the hell inside. Every night he spent in there the hours seemed to stretch out longer, dragged like nails, like the nails that always fell inches short of his face or rattled in the coffins. The screeches like nails on a chalkboard or the scraping noises as he clawed at the cold stone walls, desperate for something to hold onto amongst the intangible dead.

Maybe when he got back up to the house he’d borrow-without-asking some of Allison’s nail polish, so he could remind himself which nails were his own. His father had returned to the house after he’d collected him that morning with an instruction to compose himself and then join his siblings for breakfast. One night had been all he’d been subject to and Klaus knew he should count himself lucky. Instead a vault of repressed memories had been cracked open and he felt as if he’d relived every night since he was nine in one. Even as he blinked he could see the images flashing in front of his eyelids, horrors he couldn’t even describe, horrors no one would believe him if he did.

No one except… “Klaus.”

Klaus looked up. Sun rising behind him like a halo, Ben stood beside his own gravestone. He looked in pain and Klaus’ mind flashed miserably back to the day before when he’d screamed and there’d been that flash that spirited him away.

“Ben.” He croaked, swaying to his feet. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry, Ben. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“What do you mean am I ok?” Ben said and the harshness in his tone caught Klaus off-guard. “What’s wrong with you?”

Oh. That pained look was for _him_.

“What are you doing out here?” Ben continued, glancing at his own grave with distaste. “After that… whatever it was with the blue light yesterday, I tried to appear to you again but when I did all there was was darkness and screaming.” He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I can’t quite remember, I’m still out of it.”

“Because of me?”

He frowned. “I think so. Anyway, I didn’t try again because I thought I’d made a wrong turn.”

“You were in the right place.”

Ben’s eyes caught suddenly on the mausoleum behind him and understanding began to dawn. “Klaus you’re not telling me… in there?”

“Since I was nine.” Klaus confirmed dully. “At least once every few months. I kept track of it, like a menstrual cycle.”

“Don’t joke. That isn’t funny.”

“And then at 12 it stopped and I thought that was it. That as long as I pretended I wasn’t scared I’d never have to step foot in that place again.” He turned away from Ben and back to the empty mouth of the crypts. “Guess I was wrong. Guess after the shit I pulled yesterday, Dad decided it was time to pull out the big guns.”

"Why?" Ben said. "What did he think you'd done wrong? He was the one who forced you to summon a homicidal ghost!"

"He saw that I was scared." Klaus said. "And he's never understood my fear of the dead. He thinks it's weakness, that it'll hold me back."

"It's common sense. You didn't see that thing, Klaus." Ben shuddered at the thought. "It was rank. It was decaying at the seams. And it was practically on top of you, _I_ was scared and I'm one of them."

"No you're not Ben." Klaus assured him, still shivering from the image he'd painted. To hear it from someone else lips, be that a dead someone, made it seem both reassuringly and horrifically real. "For one you're a much snappier dresser. I never did compliment you on the leather combo, it's very Gothic Robin Hood."

“But they can’t touch you.” As if to illustrate his point, Ben jabbed an arm through Klaus’ chest. “ _I_ can’t touch you. So why is your cheek bruised?”

“It is?” Klaus was genuinely surprised. He’d barely remembered Dad hitting him which was almost pleasing in a way. He’d never be the thing Klaus feared the most. “Huh, I’d forgotten. And this blighter wasn’t from the ghosts.”

For a moment Ben appeared confused. Then a look of appalled understanding dawned on his face. “Dad didn’t-”

“Go full medieval and deign to strike me with his lordly hand? Yep.”

“And then he locked you up in a crypt? He’s been locking you up in the crypts for 3 years and you didn’t tell me?” Now Ben looked outraged, like if he could he’d put a foot through his own gravestone.

“I did call him a psychopath.” Klaus pointed out, unsure why he was defending him.

“He is a psychopath.” Ben said. “And this just proves it. And I thought what he did to me was messed up.”

“Wait- what? What did he do to you?” Klaus felt something cold run down his back, something that had nothing to do with his powers.

“Back when I couldn’t control the Horror.” Ben said, wincing slightly at the outdated phrase. It had been a name for the tentacles, one their father had come up with in a weak attempt to make a tiny boy in shorts and a sweater vest intimidating. “He’d put me in a strait jacket and tie ropes around my stomach. He conditioned me into holding it in to the point of pain but then I never wanted to let it out.”

“Funny how all Dad’s little attempts to brainwash us kabloomed in his face.” Klaus said, tasting the words like acid in his mouth. He shouldn’t have assumed it was only him that Dad had tortured and manipulated. It’s just he could never have imagined anyone raising a finger against this brother, not obedient, meek Ben. If he wasn’t good enough for their father it was no wonder Klaus was such a monumental disappointment. “I’m sorry Ben. I should have known. We could have helped each other, overthrown the government. Viva la revolution!”

“I wouldn’t mind cutting off Dad’s head.” Ben murmured. “Certainly I wouldn’t mind using a guillotine on the hand that hit you.”

“Aw, Benny, you’re too sweet.” Klaus grinned but privately he acknowledged the darkness in his brother’s voice. This was what his father had been creating: not just a troop of anxious child-soldiers but ones always inches away from a twisted mutiny. “Now come on, I’m famished. I must have burned sixteen years of mom’s pancakes writhing in terror.”

When they returned to the house and Klaus took his regular seat at the stony kitchen table, he was wearing a wide smile despite the livid bruise on blossoming on his cheek. He winked at Diego who averted his eyes skittishly and tapped his foot against Vanya’s until she granted him a curious but not unhappy look. Ben stood behind him the whole meal. He didn’t say anything and technically no one should have noticed he was there but an icy chill permeated the kitchen to the point where they were all breathing out steam in a frosty silence, glancing uneasily at each other wondering who dared to point it out. Klaus carried on smiling. He was in a bit of a chaotic mood.

Eventually, Dad broke the ice. “Number 4, are you doing that?”

Klaus forced his eyes to widen innocently and patted a napkin daintily to his lips. “Who me, father? You know full well I have no control over my powers and it’s cruel of you to taunt me otherwise.”

“Then who on earth is responsible for this infernal chill?” His father bit.

“I couldn’t say.” Klaus responded casually, taking a bite of his pancakes. “But whoever it was, daddy, you must have made them _mad_.”

Ben snickered behind him and in the cold silence Klaus wouldn’t be surprised if every one of them heard it.

 


	4. Greetings from Califournia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things in Klaus' life have never exactly gone right, but this is where they begin to go decidedly wrong. Ben watches. He's got very good at watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! God it's been years. I'm a grandmother. I'm also so very sorry. Things have been heating up academically for me so I've had less time/energy to write. Plus writing this chapter was like pulling teeth for some reason, I rewrote whole chunks multiple times. Little thing, I've de-aged the kids by a year so right now Klaus is 15 (and Ben is still dead lol). Only because I don't think there's any way Klaus would be sober by 16...  
> Enjoy!

It happens like this.

On a mission like any other, one that almost has Klaus feeling nostalgic for the good old days of bank robberies and 1,2,3,4,5,6. One that they’re called in for at midnight and that has them excited to be up past bed time in a way they think they’re too grown up to vocalise at 15.

3 casualties and Klaus tried not to stand to attention at the mention of death. It’s morbid that he only feels purposeful when people have died but that comes with the territory of a medium, he supposes. 3 casualties and Luther tells them very blunt they can’t afford to be responsible for more.

“Look, don’t do anything stupid tonight, alright? That goes for everyone.” He’d said _everyone_ but he’d been looking at Klaus. “I’m being serious. This is our first high-profile mission in weeks and Dad wants us to make a good impression. It doesn’t matter if it’s our fault or not, anything goes wrong tonight it’ll be us getting dragged in the Sunday press.”

Klaus privately thought he looked ridiculous, speaking as gruffly as an army corp but dressed from head to toe in patent leather like an apprentice-dominatrix.

“Do you think he sleeps in the suit?” Ben had whispered over Klaus’ shoulder and he’d had to mangle his giggling fit into some messy sobs.

“Just… thinking about those poor people.” He explained. “Oh what a way to go! Perhaps one of them was submitting a cheque for life insurance money; now they’ve become the life insurance money.”

Luther had stared at him utterly nonplussed for a good few seconds before turning to Diego and saying. “Make sure he doesn’t screw this up.”

“Right.” Said Diego.

“Hey!” Whined Klaus.

“My one purpose in the afterlife taken away from me.” Complained Ben.

As much as they joked, Luther had been deadly serious and they could all tell it as they sat in the lovingly christened ‘Batmobile’ limo, driving to the scene. Luther clenched and unclenched his fists, going over the plan through muscle memory. Diego polished his knives until they shone like quick-silver beneath the throbbing street-lamps. Allison drummed her fingers delicately against her throat and murmured silently, as if learning lines. Klaus hummed something repetitive obnoxiously loud and waited for someone to call him out for it.

Ben wanted to talk to Klaus but of course he wouldn’t be able to reply without looking demented. It’d be nice to feel like he was real again in the stiflingly silent car with his siblings’ gazes passing so glassily over him. Instead he contented himself with staring out of the window and watching passers-by. Ben had got very good at watching. So late most were returning from parties or raves and laughed or stumbled as they lived rich, tantalisingly close and yet freezingly distant. Ben could have been outside the car inches away from them and he’d feel exactly the same as he did now, a silent and ignored observer to their vitality.

Diego threatened to cut out his tongue unless he quit it so Klaus called him kinky and stopped humming. It was a shame. Ben had been sure he recognised that song and something about it had comforted the tip of his tongue.

When they arrived, Luther cut through the crowd of police like butter, making some unfunny gag about the cops being shown up by kids. Ben didn’t think that was something he agreed with. He’d always hated Dad’s policy of show up, beat up and leave the consequences to the police. Of course when the consequences were dead people and they followed his brother home, they were a lot easier for the others to forget.

The actual bank was a tall, stately building settled on what would ordinarily be a busy street with department stores all round. As it were, the only people that filled the streets were police officers who had set up a sort of blockade at the bottom of great stone steps leading up to the door and one solitary news van with a camera that spun eagerly to capture them when they came near. They all waved and smiled but refused to say anything more to the interviewer. Recently the questions had become less adoring and more probing and it had become easier to glide above the media rabble than try to wade through their difficult inquiries.

“Paparazzi.” Diego said with disdain once they’d got a little away despite the way Allison was craning her neck and beaming in the hopes of a few more favourable shots.

“You think they got my good side?” Klaus asked urgently. “I think they might finally make a poster out of me considering the strapping young lad I’ve been growing into recently. Luther, quick question, when you posed for yours did they make you keep your pants off or on?”

He masked the flinch when his brother punched him in the shoulder. “Ouch. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Ben wants to know if you sleep in the suit, by the way, but I don’t think he’s ambitious enough. Tell me it’s grafted to your skin.”

“I wish Ben were here to tell you to shut up.” Luther growled.

 “Who says Ben isn’t here to tell me to shut up?” Klaus grinned shooting his ghostly brother finger guns over his shoulder.

“Shut up, Klaus.” Ben provided helpfully.

It was only upon actually entering the bank, with extreme difficulty in Klaus’ case through quite a tight window, that he did actually shut up. He needed only one step over the threshold to tell it was a cold place, one of those buildings with such a busy history the veil between the living and the dead bulged at the seams. He breathed out steam and the plush velvet felt like snow beneath his feet. The corridor on either side seemed to stretch out into an eternal darkness. The beige walls were fuzzy and hung with portraits that watched Klaus out of the corners of their beady black eyes.

“This used to be a townhouse.” He whispered. “Heart of the city centre even before they turned it into a bank. Families used to live here.”

“What are you, possessed by a real estate agent?” Diego said, looking both creeped out and a little concerned. “There aren’t any ghosts here, are there?”

“Boo.” Ben said flatly, sticking his head out from behind a potted plant.

“Everywhere. They’re horrifying.” Klaus said, sticking his tongue out at his brother.

“You’re an idiot.” Diego growled. Klaus pointed from himself to Ben as if to say _what, him or me?_

“You.” Ben mouthed.

“Zip it Benjamin.”

Luckily, besides one hyper-irritating dead sibling, Klaus didn’t encounter any other ghosts lurking down the gloomy corridors of the old house. However, he didn’t doubt some could show up. With all the cosmic-undead energy practically radiating off of the building and three fresh inductions to the afterlife, if Klaus didn’t see a dead person tonight he’d expel himself from the academy.

“This way.” Luther whispered, beckoning them onwards. After a few more minutes of stealing around in the dark, they reached an arched doorway that led into the main lobby.

Crouching on either side they could just make out a huddle of hostages assembled near the registers. Klaus scanned the scene. There was a man all in black standing by them. He had a gun in his holster but he was shifting anxiously from foot to foot. He clearly wasn’t in charge and had been given the ‘easy’ job. Another two guys were talking by the entrance, watching the police from behind the frosted glass. Those doors should be automatic which meant someone had disabled them: perhaps there was some semblance of brains in this operation, someone to look out for.

“There.” Luther pointed out suddenly, gesturing to the enclosed office behind the registers where another man was flitting in and out of sight within the door frame, leaning over the computers and ransacking the drawers. He was carrying a duffle bag and even from far away Klaus could tell it was stuffed with money.

He couldn’t see any of the bodies lying about but there were slashes of blood on some of the waiting chairs and the air panged with an energy he recognised: the birth of a new afterlife.

“Here’s the plan.” Luther said, and they formed a strategic huddle. “Diego, you throw a knife and hit the guy by the hostages before he can draw his gun. That’ll distract the 2 by the door long enough for me to tackle them. Then protect Allison as she rumours the guy in the office into coming quietly. Ask him whether or not he’s alone; I get a feeling this isn’t everyone. Klaus,” He puffed out his chest expectantly. “You’re on look out.” And deflated just as fast.

“What?!” He squawked and was shushed violently. “I mean _what_? Can I at least free the hostages?”

“It’s best to leave them tied up for now. Autonomous, they’re liabilities.”

“You sound like dad.” Klaus remarked and enjoyed the mix of pride and embarrassment that coloured his brother’s face. “They’re not liabilities, they’re terrified! Besides, what if I see a ghost? What if a ghost attacks and I’m too busy keeping watch to rush to your aid?”

“Well then you can keep watch for ghosts too.” Diego suggested, flashing him a mischievous grin. “And if one attacks, which it has never done before, you can rescue us all then.”

“We’re counting on you Klaus.” Allison said sweetly as Luther clapped him on the shoulder. Within seconds, Diego had loosed a blade and the lobby descended into panic and gunfire.

“Great. Just great. Why am I always look out?” Klaus grumbled, slumping against the frame of the door and watching idly as his siblings took down the bad guys.

“You’re very good at it.” Ben said lamely but all it took was a withering look from his brother for him to crouch down in defeat. “Alright, you got me. You’re a terrible look out.”

“The worst!” Klaus agreed. “You know I’m actually a little short-sighted. I never told anyone because I don’t have the bone structure for glasses but it’s tragically true! I don’t even have 20/20 vision and yet I’m always on look out! Oh, Klaus look out and make sure no one stabs Diego. Klaus, look out for Dad whilst I cosy up with my adoptive brother! Klaus, look out for that priceless vase!”

“How much do you owe Pogo for that vase?”

“Like, a billion Deutschmarks.” He said miserably. “So I suck at my job and I’m in debt. What’s the point of having super-powers if they don’t make life easy?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the point of your super-powers.” Ben pointed out but Klaus said ‘bah’ and waved a hand at him dismissively.

“You’d probably manage to haunt me even if I couldn’t see you. You’re stubborn like that. Point is no one ever trusts me to do anything.”

Ben let out a low sigh. “Well, the thing is Klaus you don’t often do much to prove yourself trustworthy. I know your whole bit is the funny guy but maybe if you toned that down a bit you’d find people felt you could handle things seriously. I’m not asking you to change, but-”

Klaus had zoned out after ‘the thing is’. Standing only a metre away from him in the lobby was a woman. She was wearing a puzzled, slightly fearful expression and dressed smartly with a string of pearls around her neck. What must have been an immaculate bun had been squashed lopsided and her hands brushed the air, like she was testing it for answers. None of those were the most striking about her. The most striking thing about her was the peppering of bullets in her torso and the way they soaked her hands and skirt with blood.

“Holy hell.” Ben muttered, finally noticing her. “What’s up with her?”

“She’s dead, Benny.”

“Yeah, I know she’s dead. Must be one of those three casualties.”

There _had_ been three, Klaus recalled. He dredged his eyes around the lobby again and was relieved to find the ghost didn’t have any friends. The other two must have passed on.

“Are you going to help her?”

“I’m on look out.” Klaus said sarcastically. “There, I’ve looked at the ghost. Job done.”

“She looks lost.” Ben said, a little too loudly because a moment later the dead lady caught eyes with the two of them.

“Shit.” Klaus hissed.

“Hello?” She said, her voice cracking in a way that still managed to tug at Klaus’ heartstrings. “Please, can you help me? I don’t know what’s going on.” She tried to step towards them but some sort of invisible force held her back. She lifted up a hand and experimentally tried to push it forward. It was immediately repelled.

“She’s freaking out.” Ben said unnecessarily. Sure enough, tears were beginning to well in the woman’s eyes. “She can’t move properly, not yet. She’s only just died. She’s still anchored to her physical form.”

“I know, I know.” Klaus muttered. Luther, Diego and Allison were now all in the office, probably slapping around the criminals and making some poor finance-related puns. The woman was beginning to sob and wail and the sound ached like an old wound in Klaus’ ears.

“We could help her.” Ben urged. “She’s right there and the others have got the bad guys. Klaus, it’ll take 10 minutes. Please, bro.”

Ben had always felt more sympathy for the dead than Klaus thought they deserved. What did they really do to elicit pathos? They were dead, sure, but so was everyone eventually and they spent an existence in constant inertia and misery but often c’est la vie. Ben was a ghost so Klaus supposed he just understood it at a deeper level than he did. The woman crumpled dejectedly to the ground and his brother pinned him with some powerful undead puppy eyes. Klaus felt maybe a little sympathetic to both.

“Alright.” He conceded.

“Alright?” Ben said eagerly.

“Alright.” Klaus repeated in a slightly stronger tone. “I’ll help Bloody Mary over there but she’d better not follow us home. And it’s on you if her head starts rotating.”

“The Exorcist was about demons, not ghosts.” Ben reminded him.

“And there’s always a first time for everything.” Klaus took a moment to gather his resolve. “Hey! Yoo-hoo! Lady in pearls.”

She looked up at him and a slightly mad smile broke out across her face. “Hi!” She gasped and crawled forward a few steps. “Hi, little boy! Please, what’s happening to me?”

Klaus didn’t like that she’d called him little boy. That was a little too sixth sense for him. So he was plenty blunt when he told her “You’re dead.”

“Klaus!” Ben said.

“What?” The lady asked, tortured brow creasing even more in confusion.

“Sorry.” Klaus apologised mockingly to his brother. “I meant calm down, try to breathe but actually don’t because you’re dead.”

“I’m dead?”

“That’s generally a side effect of being shot 12 times in the chest, yes.”

“Oh.” She seemed to only now notice the wholes riddling her front. “Then…” The woman scrutinised his face. “Are you an angel?”

Klaus burst into peals of laughter so loud the hostages heard him on the other side of the lobby and began clamouring for help. Whoops. Still, that was too rich. “Sure, this is what God looks like.” He gestured widely to his crumpled uniform and mismatched socks. “No, I’m not an angel. Forget that light of the lord bullshit. I’m your friendly neighbourhood medium and you’re a ghost.”

“So there’s no heaven?” The woman whimpered, hand flashing up to her pearls and how hadn’t Klaus noticed the tiny little Jesus crucifix glinting amongst the orbs?

“Careful here Klaus.” Ben said, as if he didn’t already know he was breaking the harsh reality of an atheist universe to a devoted Roman Catholic.

“Ah, see about that…” He scrambled for a way to explain before deciding it was easiest just to lie. “I don’t know! Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t. But this, now this definitely isn’t heaven. This is a bank and you can’t stay here.”

“Money is the root of all evil, Timothy 6:10.” She agreed solemnly and he gave her what he hoped was a look of holy understanding.

“Indeed. So I need you to think about why you might still be here and then hopefully you can pop on off to the pearly gates and my brother and I can go home.”

“I’d like that a lot.” Ben added, just to sweeten the deal.

The lady thought deeply for a moment, trying to wrack her fractured memory. Suddenly she gasped. “My daughter!”

“Really?” Klaus deadpanned. “You could remember a Bible quote off the top of your head but forgot you had a child?”

“She was taken hostage.” The woman said, eyes splintering wildly as the memories came rushing back. “Her name’s Ruth, I was so scared for her as I died. I’m still scared for her.”

“Can you see a little girl Ben?”

His brother squinted at the hostages. “Yes! There, in the catholic school uniform?”

“Yes! Yes!” The lady said eagerly, clasping her hands in relief. “Oh thank goodness. Please, could you go and untie her? Tell her that I’m sorry, that I didn’t want to leave her, that God will protect her, let him guide her, to do her homework-”

“Woah!” Klaus chuckled. “Look, I’ll save your daughter, duh, in case you haven’t noticed I’m a bit of a superhero.”

“Super annoying.” Ben muttered.

“But imagine how freaked out she’s going to be if I suddenly start giving her chores from her dead mum?” Klaus carried on, ignoring his brother’s mutiny.

“She needs to know-” She began but he cut her off again.

“She needs to accept you’re gone. She can’t do that if she thinks I can act as a ghostly translator whenever she wants help with her calculus. You’re dead. Get over it. Your daughter will be fine.”

The woman looked heartbroken and to be honest her heart probably was from looking at the state of her chest. God, shot 12 times? That was literal over-kill, these guys were amateurs.

“Could you please go and untie her?” She whispered eventually. “Fine, you don’t have to tell her anything. Just… she must be so afraid. Please help her. After that I think I could go.”

Klaus gave a long-suffering sigh and stretched to his feet. The bones in his back crackled like fireworks. “I’m going.” He said and after a quick glance left and right, he made his way over to the hostages.

“Shouldn’t we still be keeping look out?” Ben asked, feet making no sound as he jogged to keep up.

“Nah. The others have got them all.” Klaus dismissed, choosing instead to kneel down by the little girl. The other hostages gave muffled groans and yells but he ignored them for the minute. Ruth. Her hands were tied with some harsh looking rope, her mouth was sealed shut with duct tape and her eyes were red and jewelled with tears. Poor kid. He couldn’t be the one to tell her that her mom was dead or any of the other stuff she’d been so desperate to share. She deserved to hear it come from someone who cared for her and he shouldn’t have to have that on his conscience.

The lady began to sob again as he untied her daughter and carefully peeled the duct tape from her face. “My little girl. Oh, my little angel.”

“Hey there.” Klaus said in what he hoped was a good imitation of Mom’s sweetest tone. “My name’s Klaus. My brothers and sisters and I came here to rescue you. You’re safe now, ok?”

“Thank you.” The little girl said. “Have you seen my mommy?”

“Damn.” Ben sounded a little choked, sentimental spirit that he was.

“I haven’t seen her.” Klaus lied, hating the how empty the words sounded in his comfit voice.

“He’s lying, he’s lying!” The woman cried, her hands passing right through her daughter like water. “Angel, I’m right here! Tell her I love her, please.”

“But everything’s going to be alright now.” He said, feeling a weary sickness in his stomach. “It’s all over.”

“Klaus.” Ben said urgently. The other hostages began to squirm and scream behind their duct tape.

“What is it now?” Klaus asked, swinging leisurely to his feet.

He barely had time to register the man in black in the doorway, Ruth’s terrified scream, two horrified voices screaming his name and the bark of the bullet before he was on the ground.


	5. Shot Through the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of a mission gone wrong leaves Klaus quaking and he and Diego reminisce on Ben (or rather his death).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and you're to blame darling you give loOove a bad name. Sorry, couldn't help it. There's lots of Klaus and Diego in this one! Bit of Ben. I fear I'm becoming the writers and cutting him out I'm so sorry that's not my intention whatsoever! So Ben isn't in in a lot of this chapter, but they talk about him.

Klaus was not squeamish. He had grown so familiar with the sight of gore and things that were meant to be internal hanging external that he was almost numb to it: watching a horror movie with his siblings was a walk in the park and they never could understand the way he grinned at the rubbery intestines and gratuitous blood. It wasn’t his fault that the special effects were so poor. They should’ve seen the crazy British guy who’d been haunting him last week; he’d been hung drawn and quartered and sung Rule Britannia with such passion his vital organs were accustomed to burst out of his chest during the second verse.

So Klaus was not squeamish. That’s why it made no sense that he’d just thrown up his guts onto the smart marble floor of the lobby.

“Diego? Klaus! What happened?” Came Allison’s voice and moments later she emerged from the office. All it took was one look at the man in the doorway, still holding his gun but shaking as if he couldn’t compute what he’d just done, and she seemed to grasp the situation completely. “I heard a rumour you fell asleep!” She cried and he slumped to the ground, his gun skittering across the floor.

Klaus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and managed to look at the gunshot wound. It wasn’t that bad, really, it went clean through the shoulder and it was only bleeding sluggishly. That reasoning, unfortunately, came to nought. Because this bullet wound was meant for him but instead it had hit his brother.

“Shit.” He muttered, applying pressure to the ragged hole. He’s seen wounds like these before on dead people and the thought makes him want to throw up again. “Shit.” He repeated and Diego, stupid, brave Diego, has the nerve to snicker.

“That bad?”

“It’s not.” Klaus promised as Allison sprang to their side, dainty hand covering her mouth in horror. “You’re going to be alright, I mean it Diego. Just stay with me.”

“Klaus.” Ben’s disembodied voice floated over his shoulder, muted as if he were speaking from underwater. Klaus swore he could smell the blood. His eyes began to sting. “You need to calm down. I’m de-manifesting.”

If Klaus were in a better state of mind, he’d recognise the panic in his brother’s voice as a reflection of his own and try to get himself under control. As it were, he was not in a better state of mind, and in one quick, angry motion he let his brother go, like yanking a plug out of a socket. Ben’s presence disappeared.

Luther’s barged in, larger than life and within seconds he had wrestled Diego out of Klaus’ grip and was resting his head on his knee. His great big hands pressed clumsily against the wound so hard Diego cried out in pain.

“Allison, call Pogo. Let him know we need him here stat. Diego’s been shot.” Dutifully she nodded her head and scurried off to make the call. Their brother’s attention was drawn back to them.

“What were you thinking?” Luther boomed, domino eyes dead and rigid but mouth open and horrified.

“What was I thinking?” Diego scoffed, before hacking violently into his fist. “I was thinking he was going to shoot Klaus!”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Klaus could feel that bizarre, subaqueous curtain that had descended between him and Ben flood into his eyes and ears until he wondered if he were drowning. “Let me do it, Luther, you know I’m best at first aid. You’re hurting him.”

“I told you to do one thing. You had one job Klaus! One job! And you screwed it up!”

“Lay off, Luther.” Diego groaned. “And Klaus is right, quit pressing so hard. I don’t need a broken rib on top of a bullet wound.”

Luther barely appeared to acknowledge him. “Look out, stay on look out. How was that so hard to understand? But no, you had to go and pull some attention-seeking stunt like this, didn’t you?”

The mad Catholic woman was still swiping urgently at her oblivious, now blood-speckled daughter but her voice seemed to ebb and he could tell she was passing on, fucking _finally_. However, in his peripherals other ghosts were beginning to converge as he lost more and more of his control and his emotions reached hungrily out into the abyss like a honing beacon to all things dead and distressed. Many were in period dress, hovering in blood-stained crinolines, but a few were more modern. In fact Klaus had a sinking suspicion the lolling head of one of the gunmen at the door was too glassy to be animate. That was just what he needed, another rampant spirit with a grudge against his family out for revenge.

Luther’s voice swam back into his ears. “Can’t bear being out of the limelight for 10 seconds, can you Number 4?”

“Don’t call me that! Don’t fucking call me that!” Klaus bit out, eyes drawn back to his Diego’s bloodied shoulder.  “And stop pressing so hard Luther, you’re hurting him. Diego, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know Klaus, stop fucking crying!” Klaus hadn’t even realised he had been but suddenly Diego’s eyes were glittering furiously and the tumultuous waters inside him were overflowing in rapids. He rubbed them away with the back of his hand but it was like trying to stem a waterfall.

He was still crying when the paramedics arrived to arrange Diego on a stretcher and harness him up to a hundred beeping pestilent machines. He was still crying when they were sitting in the back of the ambulance, the cold sterile lights in the ceiling painting his brother’s face a bloodless grey. He was still crying when they arrived home and Diego was vanished away by Mom and Pogo and Dad ordered them all to bed.

“I am not displeased with your performance tonight.” He informed them, lines of his face severe as he surveyed them. They looked a state, Klaus’ face still glinting with tears, Luther coated in Diego’s blood and Allison’s cheeks freckled with drops of scarlet that didn’t belong to either her or their brother. “The accident that befell Number 2 was regrettable, but nothing that cannot be amended.”

Klaus had a few choice words about his father’s use of the phrase ‘regrettable’ when describing a bullet wound and major blood-loss (not to mention, and it was silently agreed not to be mentioned, the phantom pain of Ben that ached in sympathy with the situation) but he was too exhausted and emotionally torn up. Plus it was becoming hard to focus with a whole gaggle of spirits crowding around him, chattering into his ears and trying to grasp at his clothes. He was exhausted, bewildered and beginning to feel the guilt in his stomach gnaw like a parasite.

He didn’t sleep that night for multiple reasons: 1, he was anxious for any news of Diego and that made him afraid to fall asleep even for an instant. 2, the spirits had followed him restlessly to his room and he knew they weren’t going anywhere until he could get his emotions in check enough to try and dismiss them (in particular the criminal still watching him blankly at the end of his bed didn’t make for a very relaxing bedtime experience). 3, he was hopeful that Ben would rematerialize so he could apologise. The only emotions Klaus was currently experiencing were exhaustion, guilt about Diego and guilt about Ben and the more he mulled over the harsh way he’d severed their connection, the more paranoia began to set in.

It had felt so much more abrupt and violent than any dismissal he’d ever done before and it scared him how easy and callous it had been to do. Normally dismissing a ghost when they didn’t want to go was nigh impossible for Klaus but just then it had been as simple as flicking a switch. Naturally the only time he did something proficient with his powers it ended up hurting someone. He hoped whatever void his little brother was currently suspended in released him soon.

When the sun rose the next morning Klaus greeted it with tired eyes. Some of the weaker spirits (which tended to be the moaning-groaning ones thank God) shrieked and disappeared in the daylight but others lingered still, including the gunman, who still hadn’t said anything but was beginning to unnerve Klaus more by the second. There was something numb and yet malicious in his eyes and in the cold light of day Klaus could see the livid handprints around his neck; Luther’s handiwork which was just wonderful. He was tempted to get straight to the point and ask him what he wanted but he was also too afraid.

Klaus dressed sloppily in his uniform and resolved to try and make his way to the medical wing to see Diego. He felt the indulgent need to apologise again and again and again until his repentance somehow sewed up the gaping hole in his brother’s flesh. The ghosts followed after him like a sick imitation of a balloon parade and he tried not to think about the fact they were practically breathing down his neck. He deserved this. He’d had one job.

No one else appeared to be awake but Mom, although naturally she didn’t really sleep. She gave him a soothing smile from the doorway of the living room, feather duster in hand and apron arranged as neatly as a doll. It had always struck Klaus as weird how perfect she had been designed in contrast to their abnormal family. He supposed that was the point.

“Klaus, darling, you’re up with the birds.” Mom only called them by their numbers around Dad nowadays and Klaus is grateful for the humanising aspect. Especially after such a long, torturous night surrounded by so many voices and so much darkness he wasn’t even sure he existed any more, that he wasn’t just residing in the empty chasm of his head.

“Tweet tweet.” He said weakly. “Mom, can I see Diego?”

“Of course, dear. That would be very helpful, in fact, as he’s been up all night and I need someone to convince him to take some sleeping pills.” She smiled in that knowing way she had used to when they were kids and she was trying to convince them they were special for doing a chore. “Some morphine to help with the pain and a friendly face to make him smile.”

Klaus felt certain his face was not what Diego wanted to see right now and he knew he wouldn’t respond kindly to the suggestion of getting some sleep but he promised he would and let Mom lead him to the hospital wing. When he opened the door, the first thing he saw was the panoply of drips and monitors gathered around the bed like a host of robot angels. If Diego was the baby Jesus Christ in that metaphor, Jesus had never looked so grumpy.

“What took you so long?” He complained as Mom closed the door and went off to cook breakfast. “My only company’s been the monkey and he keeps trying to pump me full of drugs.”

“Pogo’s an ape.”

“I know.” Diego frowned. “Sit down, Klaus, I’m not infectious and you look like shit.”

“Language, Diego, my virgin ears.” He made a show of clasping his hands over his ears as he sat at his brother’s bedside. “I may not catch a bullet wound, but heaven forbid I becoming infected with your foul mouth.”

“Shut up. And before you say anything, I know Mom wants me to take some morphine and go to sleep but I’m not tired.”

Klaus assessed Diego’s face. He looked exhausted: his normally tan skin was still a sickly grey and dark circles were etched beneath his eyes but for some reason there was resoluteness in his eyes that told Klaus he would not be led quietly into dreamland.

“Yes you are. Why don’t you want to go to sleep? The waking world is filled with bright light and croc-boots.”

“No it isn’t.” Diego said, looking ten times more appalled than when he’d been shot. “You’re shitting me, those do not exist.”

“They do.” Klaus said gravely. “And stop trying to change the subject. Mom’s got a lovely drug cocktail with your name on it, it’ll be bye-bye crocs and lights out before you know it.”

“I don’t want to sleep.” Diego grumbled.

“Does it hurt? Diego, I’m so-“

“Quit apologising!” Diego snapped, looking like he’d skewer him with a knife if he could. “You’re my little brother, ok?”

“We’re the same age.”

“Yeah well 2 comes before 4 so I’m older.” Diego explained smugly. “Look, I don’t know what the hell you thought you were doing but I’m glad I got shot in the shoulder and will now have a wicked scar rather than you getting shot in the heart and _dying_.” He emphasised the last word, poking Klaus hard in the chest so he could almost feel the phantom sting he so narrowly avoided. “What kind of superhero would I be if I couldn’t prevent such a stupid death? Besides, all this has got me thinking about…”

His voice trailed off. “Thinking about Ben?” Klaus supplied. Well shoot, now he was thinking about Ben. And the greedy gnawing of guilt became more intense, as if it were eating him alive.

“Yeah.” Diego admitted, slumping against the pillows. With the crinkle in his brow and the pallor of his face, he looked more dead than the gunman still lurking behind his bed. “Luther never talks about the mission, about what went wrong but… he was shot, right?”

“Plural. Dad hadn’t clocked the psychopaths had machine guns and sent the two of them in without even bullet-proof vests. Not that it would have made any difference. Ben unleashed the Horror, a guy opened fire and next thing you know he was Swiss cheese.” Klaus didn’t feel bad about the blithe metaphor; it was after all word for word how Ben had described the incident himself.

“There was a moment…” Diego rubbed his eyes uncomfortably. “I don’t fuckin’ know… when I looked out the office and I saw the guy with the gun, all I could think was ‘Not again. Not this time, not another brother’.”

For a moment silence hung between them, the only sound in Klaus’ ears a methodical scraping as a ghost dragged itself across the wall.

“Because I’ve always wondered what would’ve happened if I’d been there. If he and Luther hadn’t gone alone, could I have saved him?”

“No, Diego, of course not…”

“But see, you can’t say that because we don’t know. Maybe if I’d been there, things would’ve been different. And so I knew in that split second that I was just going to act, not think. To save you like I couldn’t…”  He trailed off uselessly, eyes landing on the snow white bandages wrapped tightly around his shoulder. “Stupid. If I’d just drawn a knife…”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Klaus said. “Not even a little bit. I was the one who dun goofed, this is all on me. I should have been looking out.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” Diego tried to shrug but winced in pain at the exertion on his wounded shoulder. Klaus tried not to think about the implications of what he was suggesting. “Not now and not then. _This time_ I took the bullet but what the hell is it good for? Ben’s still dead. I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like I’ve succeeded this once but all it’s done is remind me of what a shitty brother I was the first time. I couldn’t even save little Number 6.”

That had been one of the most painful things about Ben’s death: that it should never have been him. Out of all of them he’d been the only one with the desire to lead a normal life and more than that the _capability_ to make it happen. He could’ve made it out. Now he was immortalised in the academy forever, at worst as Number 6 sculpted in bronze and at best as Klaus’ ghost brother, maintained only in the sphere of his powers.

“Nobody could have saved him but Dad.” Klaus said. He’d been there and done that with this guilt trip and it always came back to the same sadistic billionaire. “He knew how dangerous that mission was but he insisted it should just be Ben and Luther.”

“And we should have insisted we all go.” Diego countered, frustration entering his voice. “God, are we meant to be a team or what? It feels more like we’re a puppet show and Dad’s pulling the strings.”

“Exactly!” Klaus said triumphantly. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d been arguing for years? “But you can’t blame yourself. Ben would never have wanted that. Ben _doesn’t_ want that.”

Diego appeared to mull this over. He didn’t question the certainty in Klaus’ tone, either because he picked up on the ghostly implications or just because he was happy to believe him. “Alright. I mean… you’re right. He used to tear himself apart after missions if he messed up. I’m not gonna do the same.” He paused. “And neither should you, by the way. Last night was an accident. It won’t happen again.”

Klaus felt a cold hand grasp tight around his throat. The gunman in the corner let out a low, prolonged moan. “Yeah. It won’t happen again.” Plastering a cheesy smile onto his face he began to rifle through the drawers. “You want those drugs now?”

Diego groaned. “No. No I don’t. But I also don’t want to keep on having this awkward conversation.”

“If I pump you full of enough morphine, maybe you’ll forget.”

“In which case I want to be millilitres away from death.”

Klaus chuckled and filled the syringe. One shot into the drip and Diego was melting in relief. A few minutes later, exhaustion took hold and he drifted into sleep.

Klaus suddenly wished he was awake again. After flaying his emotions so thoroughly, the empty silence rankled in the raw. Diego looked wearily at peace and Klaus wished he too could succumb to slumber so blissfully. He examined the needle, mind wandering to the other drugs Dad kept so scrupulously in the forbidden drawers of this room…

“That was really sweet.” Came a voice from behind him. It had been a long time since Klaus had jumped at a ghost, but he was clutching his heart as he spun in his chair.

Ben gazed uninterestedly at the gunman who was now banging his head against the wall, emitting a dull thud with each bash. Pointing, he said “Who’s he?”

“Some criminal Luther killed.”

“Why’s he still here?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really got round to asking. Probably revenge on myself and everyone I love.”

“Oh.” Ben raised an eyebrow. “Thanks for phasing me out of existence you asshole.”

Klaus winced. “Yeah, sorry little brother. Want to talk?”


	6. Honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Klaus have a heart-to-heart about where their future will lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back back back... back again 'gain 'gain

“I can’t believe I was almost the sexier, more tragic dead sibling.” Klaus said, taking a swig of beer. His nose wrinkled involuntarily but he forced down the taste of metal and effervescence. Ben eyed the can suspiciously.

“Where did you even find that?”

He shrugged. “Tucked away in the fridge. The expiration date reads…” He squinted at the nutrition values. “Ah! The swinging sixties. Still, it’s alcohol. Isn’t it meant to get better with age?”

“Wine. Not beer.”

It tasted like Luther’s stale gym socks. Still, he took another gulp and delighted in the laxness that pervaded his limbs. The gunman was gone; not permanently, he could tell, just like the rest of them but the beer was enough that it was just him and his brother sitting in the courtyard behind the statue. It was ironic that this place, enveloped in bronze-Ben’s shadow, was the only blind spot in the whole garden. Dad wouldn’t see them here. It was private.

“I needed this after the torture of breakfast.” Klaus expanded, feeling a little self-conscious about how slavishly he was savouring the drink. “Luther still isn’t looking me in the eyes, like I’m the bad guy when he,” He made a throttling action. “Killed someone yesterday.”

Ben didn’t say anything. Crouched against the ground with his hood against the mizzling sky, he looked tiny and folded up. The rain fell right through him.

“You’re not still mad, are you?” Klaus asked impatiently. “Because I said I was sorry. I’ve told everyone I’m sorry.”

“I’m not still mad.” Ben said but his voice was tight. “I am wondering what you’re doing out here when everyone else is in there.”

Klaus’ brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m talking to you.”

“You’re avoiding them.”

“I just want to talk to meinen kleinen Bruder, is that a crime now?”

“You’re spilling beer.”

“Oh shit.” Some of it had slopped onto his tie. Oh well. Dad wouldn’t notice unless he smelled it. “I’m not avoiding anyone but Dad, and that’s not an exclusive occurrence, it’s a lifestyle.”

“Even right now you’re avoiding me.” Ben frowned. “What’s going to happen, Klaus? What are you doing? Because you’re acting like you’re going to do something stupid.”

Some of the tension fought to settle in his tendons once more but Klaus held the can against his face and enjoyed the grounding coolness of the condensation on his skin until it subsided. “Oh pray tell, how’s that?”

“You’re wearing your stupid face.” Ben pulled a clownish expression Klaus was certain looked nothing like his face. “The one that means you’re thinking stupid thoughts, and not just your regular stupid thoughts either. Monumentally dumb. Brain damaged kind of stupid.”

Klaus couldn’t look at him. “Go on then. Guess. What stupid thing do you think I’m going to do? Because whatever it is, it can’t be stupider than anything else I’ve done these past 24 hours.”

Ben heaved a sigh. “None of any of this is your fault Klaus, thinking like that won’t get you anywhere.”

“It’s got me here.” Klaus said, unsure where exactly here was. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the rain and his dead brother or maybe it was just being alive. “And you know what I’ve decided? Fuck here. I’m leaving Benny. We’re packing our shit and getting the fuck out of Dodge.”

Ben blinked. Then he swallowed. Then his eyes roamed heavenwards, as if praying for divine intervention or at least for the ground to open up and provide a different sort of eternal torture. “Klaus… you’re _fifteen_.”

“I could pass for older.”

“You could pass for _twelve_.”

“Just because I’m a little slim-”

“No!” Ben declared, standing up to glower over Klaus with all of his 5 feet. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly are you going to stop me? With your vapour hands or non-existent tentacles?” He waggled his arms wildly and ineffectually.

“I’m putting my foot down.” Ben said again.

“Your foot is intangible, you’re putting down nada.”

“Why the hell do you want to leave?” Ben demanded. “What exactly is that going to do? Where will you go? Have you even thought about this at all?”

“No, not really.” Klaus admitted, also rising to his feet. He gestured grandly to the damp courtyard and austere brick walls of the academy. “But why the hell would I want to stay? I’m useless here, Benny. More than that, I’m a liability on legs. I try to use my powers to help someone and what happens? Diego gets shot. No thanks. I’m not going to live with dragging the team down.”

“Fuck the team, they’re our _family_.” Ben insisted. “They don’t care about you being useful; you’re not an object Klaus, you’re their brother.”

“I’m a number.” Klaus said shortly. “That’s what Luther called me yesterday, he called me a number Ben. And currently the only number lower than me is Vanya and she doesn’t even have powers!  But the sick thing is, I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat because this isn’t some sort of superhero ability I can use to save the day, this is a curse.” He laughed bitterly. “That’s another reason to leave. I’m not putting up with seeing dead people anymore all because Dad thinks it’ll help him save the world.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben looked understandably disturbed at the idea. “You can’t just stop having powers.”

“But that’s the wonderful thing. Yes I can.” He pointed at the can of beer. “This stops it.”

There was a charged pause as Ben seemed to struggle for words. “This? You mean _drugs_?”

Klaus couldn’t suppress an eye roll. “Gee, you make it sound sooo harsh.”

“It is harsh! It’s poison!”

“I like to think of it as… self-medication. This…”  Klaus chugged back the last of the alcohol, bending his back as the numbing effects rippled through him. “This is just what the doctor ordered! Think about it, Benny. I hear voices, hallucinate, have nightmares. I’m _sick_. The drugs aren’t poison, not to me; they make me _well_.”

“You’re not sick.” Ben said softly. “And what’s going to happen to me, huh? Have you thought about that?”

“You’ll be fine.” Klaus sighed, crumpling back down against the statue. His mind was feeling mellow and at ease. He felt confident for the first time that he was talking sense. “I’ll just try extra, extra hard to keep you manifested. And if I do have a little lapse of control…” He lifted a hand and let it waver in the air for a moment, before slapping back into his lap. “Not that I don’t appreciate our brotherly bonding but we don’t need to be constantly attached at the hip. Explore the spirit realm or whatever you do. Fistfight ghost Hitler! I don’t care.”

Ben paused, the mental cogs in his brain chugging through the information. “You’re sure it’s the drugs that are helping you?” He asked eventually.

Klaus latched onto his hesitance. “Absolutely. It’s like… like I’ve come alive for the first time. I never realised how cold I was until now, Ben, I wish you could touch me. I can feel my blood pumping, my heart beating and for once my mind is… quiet.” He hummed, closing his eyes and listening to the rush in his head. “Everything I hear is alive. I can hear my own thoughts for once, focus on things. But I also feel ten times more energised, like I’ve had 20 shots of espresso!”

He leapt to his feet and executed a sound-of-music-esque spin. “It’s incredible! I feel incredible!”

Ben’s expression was torn between affectionate and concerned. “I think I was right. This is stupid.”

“But…”

“But I think you’re going to go through with it no matter what I say.” He squinted at their dismal surroundings. “And I’m getting pretty tired of this PTSD-inducing dump too. So I’m willing to compromise.”

“You’re willing to compromise my life decisions?” Klaus tilted his head sceptically. “I don’t see how this is an ‘us’ problem.”

“Klaus, I’m dead and you’re the only living soul who can see and talk to me. I’m literally living vicariously through you. It’s always going to be an ‘us’ problem.”

“Right, right!” Klaus placated, chuckling a little. Some bit of his heart remembered to warm as his brother poorly hid a smile. “In which case, lay out your terms.” He steepled his fingers and assumed an expression of earnest concentration.

“Ok.” Ben took a deep, ironic breath. It felt odd taking such initiative, uncomfortable for someone so used to going along with whatever Luther, Dad and now Klaus said but deep down he knew he’d feel worse knowing he hadn’t tried to avert the train wreck he could prophesise as his brother’s future. “First things first: you’re not going anywhere until our sixteenth birthday.”

“I immediately object.”

“It’s three months, Klaus. You can manage three months after nearly 16 years.”

Klaus let out a prolonged groan but nodded his assent. “You drive a hard bargain, but I concede.”

“Second of all: if you’re going to drink it’ll be only that. Just drinking. Nothing harder.”

There was a mulling pause. “I’ll try.”

“What do you mean you’ll try?”

Klaus’ face was screwed up with difficulty. “I mean what I mean. Don’t look too deeply into these concessions, I said I’d try my best and Mom always said my best was good enough.”

Ben didn’t like the vagueness of that promise but something told him it was the best he was going to get so he didn’t protest. “Finally: wherever you go, I’m going too. It’s my job to keep you alive from here on out. Because as long as you’re alive…” He trailed off. “I mean, I’m still dead but you get the idea.”

“In which case, I think we’ve got ourselves a deal.” Klaus spit with feeling onto his hand and stretched it out, as if waiting for Ben to shake.

“I can’t touch you.”

“Go on, humour me.” Reluctantly Ben reached out his hand and let it hover in the space between his brother’s as they shook. “Alrighty! Done and dusted.”

“Oh, and I get to choose an activity every Sunday.” Ben blurted out.

“What?!” Klaus wrenched back his hand as if it had been burnt. “No, no, no deal’s off. Nuh uh.”

“Well why not? You get to choose everything we do. One day out of seven can be Ben-day, a holy day.”

Klaus levelled him a look. “Honestly, I’d rather go to church than watch another god-awful indie movie.”

Ben looked a little hurt. “They’re _good_.”

“The last one was in black and white, Benjamin, and the backing track made me want to drive a knife into my ear-canal.”

“You looked plenty receptive when the characters started taking their clothes off.”

“Well yeah but the protagonist artsy white boy had washboard abs that really popped in monochrome.” He hummed as if savouring the memory. To be honest, Ben had been referring to the heroine in the red white and blue bikini (that was inevitably burnt at the dramatic climax of the film to represent the death of the American dream, it had been a little cliché) but he supposed if that was Klaus’ taste, the guy had been dreamy and James-Deanish too.

“In which case, if we’re going to watch an indie movie I’ll make sure there’s at least one topless scene to stave you over.”

“Sure. Sunday can be Ben-day.” Klaus agreed. “And I’ll drink to that!” Reaching for the beer can, he found it had been drained and bitterly shook out a few stray droplets into his mouth. “Hmmm. It may be time to raid Dad’s sad-drinking liquor supply.”


End file.
